


The Boy Who Could Not Love

by maverickette



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, Eventual Tom Riddle/Original Female Character(s), Eventual smut maybe?, F/M, First War with Voldemort, POV Third Person, Rise of Voldemort, Romance, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Tragic Romance, Villains, Young Tom Riddle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27304309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maverickette/pseuds/maverickette
Summary: A winding, rattling story of Tom Riddle's rise to darkness and the one person who ever made him feel closest to having a heart. Tom begins his years at Hogwarts with an insatiable hunger for power. What he did not expect, was to meet someone who rivaled his thirst for greatness with their own, however unlikely they might be.~This story follows Tom Riddle's rise to power and his life afterwards with the addition of an original character that puts a twist on it. It was earnestly based on this quote from J.K. Rowling: "It was a symbolic way of showing that [Tom Riddle] came from a loveless union -- but of course, everything would have changed if Merope had survived and raised him herself and loved him," and my own belief that anyone can be taught to love, even if they are born without it.This is a curious and twisting story that darkens as the story progresses. It may contain more mature themes later on. If you don't like reading about OCs in Harry Potter then this may not be the story for you, but I still hope you'll give it a chance as I've tried to write the OC in as naturally as possible :)
Relationships: Abraxas Malfoy/Original Female Character(s), Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Voldemort, Cygnus Black/Druella Rosier Black, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Tom Riddle | Voldemort/Original Female Character(s), Tom Riddle/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 22





	1. The Beginning

Tom glared over the edges of the _Daily Prophet_ , his fingers clenched tightly around the newspaper. A vein in his forehead twitched as he watched her. The other children at the orphanage hadn’t been nearly this irritating. Well, some of them were, but at least none of them hummed this loudly.

She was sitting across from him, cradling some sort of small, round, puffy creature in her arms. It had long, silky fur that the girl was carefully brushing with a comb while she hummed. Hummed _incessantly._

Tom furrowed his brow and turned back to the headline he was reading. He’d been reading everything he could get his hands on lately. Everything about the wizarding world, of course. _His_ new world. But he was torn between curiosity and annoyance, because of all the books he’d managed to find in Diagon Alley, none of them had mentioned the furry creature that this girl was tending to.

He supposed the wizarding world had to have magical creatures of its own, didn’t it? Tom hadn’t been that intrigued by them, though. He didn’t care for fire-breathing dragons or horned serpents, unless of course they bore ingredients used in potions, something Tom found far more fascinating.

The girl trilled a song in her throat, smiling benignly at the creature as she turned it around and began combing through the fur on its other side. Tom let out a huff of air through his nose, trying once again to read the headline, but the girl let out a loud giggle and Tom finally set down the newspaper with a crunch.

“What is it?” He asked coolly.

She slowly raised her head, peering at him through long, dark lashes. “I beg your pardon?”

“What is it?” He repeated, jerking his head at the creature in her lap.

Only adding to his annoyance, the girl let out another giggle and tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear. The creature chittered, climbing into her palm as she held it up to him.

“I was wondering when you were going to stop pretending you were reading that,” She said, a twinkle in her eyes. “I think it was starting to make Ripley uncomfortable.”

Tom stared, his eyes darting from the creature to the girl’s face.

“Ripley’s a puffskein.” The girl went on. “They’re quite common pets, you know. At least in our world. Are you Muggleborn?”

Tom did not respond. Not because he did not want to, but because he did not entirely know. He’d read all about what it meant to be muggleborn, but refused to believe it. His father had to have been a wizard, for there was no other way. How else could he have obtained such extraordinary abilities? From his mother? His pathetic mother, the woman who had _died_ giving birth to him? Impossible.

“You don’t have to tell me, I suppose. It doesn’t matter anyway.” The girl finally said, after a lengthy silence. She turned her attention back to the puffskein in her arms. “You can hold him if you’d like. He won’t bite.”

“No, thank you.” said Tom, leaning back in his seat.

“Is that all, then?” She asked, tilting her head. “You aren’t going to ask me to stop humming?”

Tom narrowed his eyes for a moment, then turned to look out the window at the countryside flying by outside the train. “It didn’t bother me.”

“Oh, really?” She snorted. “Never in my life have I seen anyone sit that stiffly. Nor have I seen anyone trying so hard to read the _Daily Prophet_ of all things.”

“I find it interesting.” He said, beginning to regret starting this conversation.

The girl put down the hairbrush, studying him for a moment. He stared back. She looked as if she were about to ask him something. But instead, she picked up the hairbrush again and returned to combing the puffskein’s fur.

“Well, if it didn’t bother you.” She said, and gave him a sideways smile before beginning to hum again.

***

The Sorting Hat had barely touched his head before it had shouted “Slytherin!” for the entire Great Hall to hear. Applause met his ears as he wrenched it off of his head and began to move toward the table at the far side of the hall. Beside him, he recognized the man that had retrieved him from the orphanage. Albus Dumbledore wore a peculiar look when he took the Sorting Hat from Tom, but it turned to a smile as he began to clap with the rest of the hall.

Tom sank down on the bench, gazing shrewdly at the students around him. Some of them smiled at him, while others seemed a bit bored. He jumped when someone clapped him hard on the back.

“Welcome to the best house at Hogwarts!” said a voice on his other side.

Tom turned to see a taller boy grinning down at him. He looked to be a year or two older. He had dark hair and sunken eyes that gleamed when he smiled.

“Thank you.” said Tom.

“Lighten up. You look your nerves are eating you.” He chortled, as the Sorting Hat bellowed out another decision. “Afraid you won’t fit in?”

“No.” Tom said, rather sharply, but changed tactics when the boy raised an eyebrow at him. “I just don’t know much about Slytherin, is all. Other than it’s where the cunning and ambitious go.”

“Like I said, it’s the best house at Hogwarts.” The boy smirked. “Slytherin’s where you’ll find the smartest, most powerful wizards willing to do whatever they need to get where they want to be.”

Tom’s eyes glinted in the bright candlelight as the boy went on.

“It’s also the purest of the rest of the houses.” He said, turning up his chin.

“Purest,” Tom said slowly.

“You’re pure-blood, aren’t you?” The boy asked. “Most Slytherins are, you know. Some half-bloods here and there. But I think I’d leave if they let any Mudbloods in.”

Tom didn’t respond. His mind had drifted to the conversation he’d had on the train. That girl had asked him if he was Muggleborn. He was slowly growing more and more irritated by the fact that he had no idea. Perhaps being at Hogwarts would help him finally find out who his father was.

“What was your name again?” The boy asked, frowning when Tom didn’t reply.

“Tom.” He said, with distaste. “Tom Riddle.”

“I’m Davin Mulciber.” said the boy, sticking out his hand to shake Tom’s.

But Tom was hardly paying attention. His eyes were back on the stool at the front of the Great Hall.

“Tinsley, Fern!” came Dumbledore’s voice.

The girl from the train stepped out of the line of first-years and sat down on the stool, the Sorting Hat drooping down over her eyes. Tom could see her puffskein dawdling on her shoulder.

Slytherin House, home of the cunning, ambitious, and talented, Tom thought. He snorted softly under his breath as the Sorting Hat remained silent. There was no way. But after an entire minute of deliberation, the hat was still silent. It only took Tom a sweeping glance of the hall to tell that this did not usually happen.

“Hat stall,” said Davin Mulciber, nudging Tom with his shoulder. “Been a while since the hat’s taken this long to decide.”

Then, at last, the seam ripped wide open near the brim and the hat shouted, “SLYTHERIN!”

Cheers and yells erupted around him as he gaped. Fern Tinsley took off the hat and handed it to Dumbledore, her cheeks red as she hurried over to the Slytherin table. Tom moved over to let her sit down, a sour look masking the surge of shock on his face.

“Oh, hello.” She said, beaming at him.

“Welcome to Slytherin!” Mulciber said loudly, lurching around Tom to shake Fern’s hand.

“Thanks.” Fern breathed, her cheeks still flushed. “I wasn’t up there for too long, was I? The hat really took it’s time.”

“Not too long.” Mulciber lied, with a furtive look at Tom. “Was it deciding between Slytherin and another house?”

“Yes,” said Fern, but paused, as if she had decided against saying anything else. “But it decided on Slytherin in the end.”

The Sorting ended when Dumbledore picked up the stool and carried the hat away. A whiskery man with a tall hat perched atop his head rose at the center of the staff table. With a clap of his hands the golden plates and goblets burst with food and drink.

Tom chose to listen while everyone else chattered over dinner. The food was by far the most delicious he’d ever tasted. Far superior to the junk the orphanage fed him. More interesting though was the conversation at the Slytherin table.

“I come from a long line of purebloods. Everyone in my family’s pureblood.” A boy with platinum blond hair was talking loudly over his goblet of pumpkin juice. “I was hardly surprised when the hat put me in Slytherin. It was obvious.”

“Well, it’s not so obvious for everyone. That’s why there’s a Sorting.” Chirped Fern, scooping treacle tart onto her plate.

“That’s right, took you nearly three whole minutes.” The blond boy went on, his pale eyes fixed on Fern. “So, what was the hat saying?”

Tom saw Fern gently set down her own goblet of pumpkin juice, chewing her lip slightly as she gazed at the boy. “That’s between me and the hat, isn’t it?”

The boy snorted. “Oh please, afraid to tell us? Why, was it going to put you in Hufflepuff?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” said Fern.

Mulciber let out a wheezing laugh, leaning over Tom once again to look at Fern. “Only a nutter would actually want to be in Hufflepuff. Full of Mudbloods and pushovers.”

“That’s not very nice,” Fern frowned.

“What, that they’re all pushovers?” Mulciber asked, raising an eyebrow. “It’s only true.”

The blond boy had just opened his mouth, but Fern spoke first.

“If you spend all your time underestimating someone, you’ll look like a fool when they surpass you.” She said, with a pleasant smile on her face.

Tom’s chewing slowed. An odd silence had settled over their end of the table. Davin Mulciber looked as if he’d been slapped, and the blond boy sitting across from Fern’s mouth was hanging open.

Fern glanced up from her food, before her face broke into a smile. “It’s just something my grandmother used to tell me.”

“Who’s your grandmother?” Asked the blond boy, narrowing his eyes.

Fern’s smile did not waver. “A very wise woman.”

Tom watched her for a second longer before he decided the theory that was forming in his head must be correct.

“She raised you,” said Tom, voice cutting across the conversation. “Didn’t she?”

“How’d you know?” Giggled Fern, turning to look at him. Up close, Tom saw that her eyes were a soft, vivid green.

“Just a hunch.” He replied, turning curtly back to his plate.

The conversation slowly rose again and this time the topic had moved on to classes. Fern was now chatting animatedly with a girl on her other side, and Mulciber was introducing the blond boy to someone else.

Tom fell back into his silence. He had been right to think that he wasn’t the only one who thought Fern Tinsley was a bit strange. Mulciber and the other boy had seemed quite displeased after hearing what she’d said, but Tom wasn’t entirely sure he felt the same.

He stole a glimpse of her again; she was roaring with laughter at something. Tom was sure her comment about underestimating people had not been as related to being a pushover than it had been to Mulciber’s comments about Hufflepuff being filled with Mudbloods. He remembered what she’d said on the train about being Muggleborn. _It doesn’t matter anyway._

Tom let out a snort through his nose. Of course, it mattered. He’d only just entered this world, but he was already firm in his belief that wizards and witches were superior to Muggles. After all, he was confident he’d soon be finding his father somewhere in the books at Hogwarts. He had to have been a wizard. His mother had died giving birth to him. She had been weak. Unlike him. She had to have been a Muggle. Or perhaps Muggleborn.

He cast Fern Tinsley out of his mind. He had no need for someone as useless as to pity Muggles. Tom had much to learn at Hogwarts if he was going to harness the power he’d been dreaming of since Albus Dumbledore’s visit.

***

Tom was well liked by the teachers at Hogwarts, and it served him very well. He excelled in nearly every class and had every professor fawning over his every move. Tom had taken to spells, charms, and potions quickly. He was one of the first in his class to master the Levitation Charm, he figured out how to un-transfigure objects after only one lesson, and had managed to brew a Sleeping Draught perfectly on his first try. Professor Slughorn, the potions master, liked him a lot in particular.

“It is perfect!” Slughorn boomed one day, while craned over Tom’s cauldron full of pristine, blue liquid. “A perfect Fire-Protection Potion!”

“Thank you, Professor.” said Tom, his lips curving in a polite smile.

Slughorn clapped his large hands together with glee before moving to the blond boy with pale eyes beside him. He peered into the cauldron, which was filled to the brim with a deep violet-tinged blue potion.

“Abraxas, you seem to have added too many salamander tails.” said Slughorn, with a tut. “It is passable, though it may not protect you completely from a fire. Perhaps bring along one of those Muggle fire put-outers.”

A light dusting of pink appeared on Abraxas’ pale face as a ripple of laughter echoed from the class. Fern Tinsley, who was sitting one desk away, giggled into her lap.

Abraxas turned furiously to Tom. “Why didn’t you tell me I added too many salamander tails?”

“In all honesty, I wasn’t paying attention.” He said passively.

“Oh, come off it. You finished twenty minutes early!” Abraxas hissed.

Tom suppressed the smile twitching at his lips. “Don’t worry. I think she found it funny.”

Abraxas’ already flushed face turned an even brighter color. Tom had thought it was obvious how much Abraxas had been trying to impress Fern since the first day of classes. Especially after their conversation at the welcome feast, he had been working exceptionally hard to redeem himself. A few of the boys in their dormitory had teased him a bit when they’d first figured it out, but nearly all of them wore similar looks whenever Fern passed in the hallways. Tom found it incredibly irritating.

In fact, apart from Tom, Fern Tinsley might have been the only other person whom every teacher seemed to love. Even Albus Dumbledore, the Transfiguration professor who treated Tom rather plainly compared to everyone else.

“A lovely set of needles.” said Professor Dumbledore, picking one up off of Fern’s desk and holding it up to his eyes.

“Thanks, Professor!” Fern said happily, beaming as he put it back down and swept along the aisle.

“Very good, Tom.” said Dumbledore, now examining an identical set of needles that Tom had just changed from matches. “Dare I ask, you’re not still lingering in the library past hours, are you?”

“Of course not, Professor.” Tom said smoothly, as if he had not felt the twinge of annoyance in his neck. “I’ve taken to staying up in the common room reading, instead.”

Tom glared at Dumbledore’s retreating back as he moved on to survey another student’s work. It was true, Tom had spent nearly every evening of his first month in the library. Reading, reading, and reading. Hoping to find any trace of his father in the school records. So far, his search had come up empty. He was determined to search through another set of school records when Professor Dumbledore had caught him on the verge of entering the restricted section. He had, of course, denied anything of the sort. But unlike many of the other Hogwarts teachers, Dumbledore seemed to have doubted his explanation. After that, he had been forced to spend his nights by the fire in the Slytherin common room flipping through the few records he was allowed to bring out of the library.

Still, his search persisted. He was sure his father was here somewhere. His name had to be here. He would search even the headmaster’s office if he had to, but he would find him.

“Look, I’ve made them into a smiley face!” Fern’s voice cut through his thoughts, and Tom turned to look at her desk.

The needles had been arranged into a smiling face, just as she’d said, and Fern and the girl beside her were laughing and creating other shapes out of their needles. A few paces away he saw Dumbledore cast them a light smile.

A vein in Tom’s forehead twitched as he watched them and he was dully reminded of his infuriating train ride to Hogwarts. But on his other side, Abraxas was laughing heartily and puffing out his chest in the hopes that she’d notice.

Tom rolled his eyes and cleared off his desk, vowing to never again to waste his time trying to understand what Abraxas ever saw in her.


	2. Secrets, and Lies, and Jinxes

Despite Tom’s excellence in Potions, his true favorite class was Defense Against the Dark Arts. His eyes had practically exploded with hunger after Professor Merrythought demonstrated a proper Knockback Jinx. The mere thought that his wand could produce such a powerful spell sent him fervently to the library again.However, it was not until October that they began to practice beginner jinxes and hexes. And it was not until their first practical lesson that Tom saw something truly extraordinary.

“Tom—hey, Tom!” Gasped a voice at his side. “Slow down!”

Tom barely glanced over his shoulder, adjusting his bag and forging his way up the Grand Staircase while the two boys behind him struggled to catch up.

“I know why he’s so chuffed—” panted Abraxas, right on Tom’s heels. “Merrythought’s said we’ve got a practical lesson today.”

“Explains it.” Wheezed the boy behind him. He was a lanky boy with a thin, surly face and tousled brown hair.

“Honestly, _Herbert_ —and you want to play Quidditch?” Abraxas laughed, then immediately doubled over to catch his breath.

“Shut up, Quidditch is played on brooms! You haven’t got to run anywhere!” The boy snapped. “And I’ve told you to call me Nott.”

“Don’t fancy Herbert?” Tom asked quietly, and Abraxas let out a snort as they arrived at the door of their Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

“Shut up,” Nott said again, his face strained as he clutched a stitch in his chest. “And Abraxas, you’re one to talk about Quidditch. Weren’t you going on about how nice your racing broom was last night?”

“He was only doing that because Tinsley was there.” said Tom, now waiting impatiently for Professor Merrythought to open the classroom door.

They were the first to arrive, but as the minutes went by more and more of their classmates were showing up. While Abraxas and Nott argued behind him, his eyes followed his fellow Slytherins as they queued up outside the room.

Fern Tinsley was dawdling near the end of the line, sandwiched between a haughty girl with a piercing gaze, and another with long, red hair. In front of them were a few boys, two from his, Abraxas, and Nott’s dormitory. Tom knew them as Avery and Lestrange. But just as the Gryffindor first-years joined them, the door in front of Tom swung open.

“Come in, come in,” said Professor Merrythought, stepping aside to let them all file in and take their seats.

Tom chose a seat at the very front of the class. Abraxas only reluctantly joined him after passing Fern, who was seated a few rows behind them.

“Now, today we will be practicing the Knockback Jinx and a slight addition to it if some of you are prepared.” said Merrythought.

Tom felt a leap of excitement at his words, but beside him Abraxas looked rather apprehensive.

“You all know the incantation is ‘ _Flipendo_ ,’ but if you manage to master the Knockback Jinx, though I doubt only after one class…” Merrythought trailed off for a moment before clearing her throat. “Well, in any case, if you manage to master it, I will allow you to move on to ‘ _Flipendo Maxima,’_ which maximizes the effects of the jinx!”

Tom already had his wand out and was flexing his fingers. Professor Merrythought then told them to partner up and the room was filled with sudden chatter.

“Tinsley! Hey, Tinsley!” Abraxas was already turned around in his seat. “Tinsley, you’ll want to partner me instead of her. I’m loads better at jinxes than Druella.”

The haughty girl sitting beside Fern narrowed her eyes. “Get stuffed, Malfoy. Why would she want a partner that can barely hold his wand straight?”

Tom was beyond annoyed at this point. Just as he was about to tell Abraxas to pick someone or get jinxed—

“Oh, it’s alright Dru.” said Fern, with a serene smile. “Can’t hurt to partner Abraxas.”

Abraxas looked as if Christmas had come early.

“Then who am I supposed to jinx? Myself?” Druella asked.

“No—me.” Tom said coolly, patience worn thin. “Now, hurry up.”

Druella was suddenly looking halfway between apprehensive and curious. Exchanging a quick look with Fern, she crossed the space and joined Tom.

“Everyone ready? Alright, face your partners now! Ready your wands—” said Merrythought, as all the couples in the room turned to face their partners.

Abraxas and Fern moved into position beside Tom and Druella. Druella hesitantly raised her wand, but Tom’s was already pointed straight at her. His pulse quickened in his chest and his hand shook slightly with excitement.

“Go easy on me, Tinsley, will you?” Abraxas said pompously on Tom’s other side.

“No promises.” She said, with a bright smile.

“Alright! Now begin!” said Merrythought, and the room was filled with people brandishing their wands and yelling “ _Flipendo_!”

The incantation hadn’t even left Tom’s lips when there was a loud CRASH from beside him. Nearly everyone froze to look, and when Tom did he had to work hard to keep his jaw from dropping.

Abraxas was lying in a crumpled heap against the wall, groaning in pain. Tom’s eyes flew to Fern, who still had her wand up and pointed at Abraxas. She was still smiling, but there was a strange icy look in her eyes. Then she blinked and it was gone.

“Oh no!” She cried, her expression changing drastically to panic. “Oh, Professor, I’m so sorry! I accidentally did _Flipendo maxima_ first! Abraxas, are you alright?”

Abraxas gave another feeble groan, pushing himself into a sitting position. He was staring weakly up at Fern as she crouched beside him, looking almost tearful.

“I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t!” She gasped, helping him to his feet.

“That is…quite alright, Miss Tinsley.” said Professor Merrythought, staring perplexedly at the pair of Fern and Abraxas. “It seems Mr. Malfoy is alright, is he not?”

“Fine…I’m fine.” Muttered Abraxas, looking quite bashful. “Just…just wasn’t expecting it…that’s all.”

“No, I should think not,” Fern moaned. “And after Professor Merrythought told us exactly what to do—oh, I’m such an idiot!”

But for once, Tom did not think she was an idiot at all, which shocked him. His dark eyes narrowed shrewdly as he watched her. Of course, Tom had been practicing the Knockback Jinx in secret long before today’s class. He had only been excited for their lesson today because he would finally have a dueling partner. But even _he_ had not managed to pull off that powerful of a _Flipendo maxima._

After Abraxas had been checked over thoroughly by Professor Merrythought and the walls had been lined with cushions, they returned to practicing the jinx. However, this time Tom wished he and Abraxas could’ve switched partners. Druella hardly knocked Tom over once, while she was getting quite tired of having to pick herself off the ground. It did not compare to Fern though, who blew Abraxas into the wall of cushions behind him twice as much as he did to her.

When class ended, it was with a sour mood that Tom left. His eyes followed Fern as she walked cheerfully out of the room with Druella. He made a silent promise to himself. From that day forward, Tom did exactly as Fern Tinsley had said at the welcome feast but with a twist of his own. He surely would not underestimate her, but he _surely_ would not let her surpass him. Even less, let him look a fool.

***

Throughout the next three months Tom was guilty of spending every night in the library, not only digging through the old school records, but now practicing every jinx and hex he could find. Being outshined on the first day of practical lessons did not sit well with him. Not exactly because he cared about being the top of his class, but more so because he could not accept that someone who would pity Muggles could ever be stronger than he.

Somehow though, Fern continued to excel in every practical Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson they’d had. After the Knockback Jinx, Professor Merrythought had moved them on to the Verdimillious Charm, which Tom had mastered quickly. Yet in class, Fern had produced the best green sparks and had even demonstrated the offensive use of the spell as well.

“She’s hiding something,” said Tom, on a cold December morning while he, Avery, and Lestrange were making their way down to the greenhouses for Herbology.

“You’re barking,” said Avery, a sandy haired boy with a rather friendly face. “You’re just mad she’s better than you at something.”

“You honestly think that’s what I care about?” Tom said coolly. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how good she is. Without any practice.”

“Haven’t you noticed how good _you_ are? Without any practice?” said Lestrange.

“This is different.” said Tom, though he did not say anything against Lestrange’s claim. “She’s been able to do nearly every spell Merrythought’s taught us after only one lesson.”

“Seriously, Riddle, you’re just talking about yourself at this point,” Lestrange rolled his eyes.

“And you’re not all right, mate, I’ve heard she spends a lot of time in the library too,” Avery added, as they set down their bags at a table.

“How’s that?” asked Tom. “I spend every night there and I haven’t seen her.”

“Druella Rosier says she sneaks in after the library closes for the evening,” Avery went on, dropping his voice as Abraxas and Nott joined them. “No idea what she does, though.”

Tom was quiet for a few minutes after. How had she managed to sneak into the library when he’d been caught just months before? Avery’s words had only confirmed his suspicion that something was off about her. But halfway through their Herbology lesson, Tom was once again wondering how on earth she could be a Defense Against the Dark Arts prodigy.

“So, these valerian sprigs are used mainly in Potions then?” Druella asked, sitting one table away with Fern and a few other Slytherin girls.

“Did you know they’re used in treacle fudge too?” said Fern eagerly, her eyes bright. “Isn’t that interesting? And delicious! I had no idea!”

Tom’s knuckles whitened around a tuft of valerian sprigs. Honestly, _this_ was the girl who he thought was hiding some sort of dark secret? However, after that afternoon’s Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, Tom was once again convinced.

She had recited an entire textbook inscription detailing hags and curses that worked against them. She had even demonstrated one of them at the front of the class. Tom was determined to find out what she was hiding, for it was only this class that she seemed to be stellar in. Unlucky for him, it was his favorite.

His plan to find out what she was hiding, however, would have to wait until after the Christmas holidays. While everyone was getting ready to go home, Tom had signed up to stay at Hogwarts. He would rather pitch himself off the Astronomy Tower before going back to the orphanage. When the holidays begun, Tom used the newfound emptiness of the castle to bury himself in more school records. So far, his father was nowhere to be found. The school records had not yielded anyone with the last name Riddle yet.

It was with growing disappointment that Tom returned to classes in January. Abraxas had come back from the holidays in a stunning new pair of robes and with several tins of sweets. Nott, Avery and Lestrange, however, had taken to teasing him about this.

“Oh, your royal highness, shall I carry the end of your cloak for you?” Snickered Lestrange, diving for the tail of Abraxas’ long cloak and bundling it up in his arms.

“Shove off,” Abraxas grumbled, yanking it away.

“Forgive us, your majesty, would you like a bite of hot fudge?” said Avery, opening one of Abraxas’ many tins. “Hand fed to you, perhaps?”

While Abraxas’ face turned bright pink in the light of the fire, and Nott, Avery and Lestrange cackled with laughter, Tom was curled in an armchair a little way away from them. In his hands was an old, dusty book containing a record of Hogwarts students from well before his time.

“Fudge, Tom?” asked Nott, sticking out the tin to him.

Tom shook his head. His eyes were still firmly planted on the page he was reading. Names flashed through his mind as he read them. Rhodes. Rich. Rickards. Rider. Ridley. And then his heart dropped into his stomach when the list moved on to Rigby. No Riddle. With a huff of annoyance, he slammed the book shut and threw it onto a table.

“Done trying to memorize every student who’s gone to Hogwarts, are you?” said Nott, settling himself in a chair beside Tom.

“Not in the slightest,” said Tom, his dark eyes fixed on the crackling fire. “I’m going to get the next one.”

“The next record?” Nott gaped. “You’re not serious. It’s nearly midnight.”

“You’d best be off to bed then.” Tom said, shouldering his bag and moving toward the door.

He ignored the calls of his companions as he went. The common room door slid open and he stepped out into the cold, dungeon air. Given the late hour, the hallways were empty, which Tom used to his advantage. When he reached the library, however, he was surprised to find that it wasn’t quite as empty as the halls.

Tom slipped behind a bookshelf just in time. If he’d moved a second later, Fern would have definitely have seen him when she turned around. Her wand was clutched in her hand, eyes wide and wary. Peering through a gap between two dusty volumes on the shelf, Tom saw her slowly turn back around.

He widened the gap between the two books in front of him until he could see her clearly. She had a book opened up in one hand, and her wand was pointed out in front of her in the other. She was whispering something under her breath, possibly an incantation, and waving her wand in different patterns.

Tom slunk around the far side of the bookshelf until he was an aisle closer, straining his ears. Then, he heard the nearly inaudible phrases floating from her mouth.

“ _Expelliarmus…expelliarmus!_ Must be the wrong wand movement…” She muttered, flicking her wand again. Nothing happened.

Tom pushed aside a few other books to see what she was pointing at, for he was quite sure she was attempting a Disarming Charm and was curious to know who was helping her practice. He almost laughed out loud when he caught sight of her puffskein (Ripley—was it?) sitting on a chair across from her, clutching a quill in its tiny hands.

“ _Expelliarmus!”_

His smirk vanished as soon as the quill went flying out of the puffskein’s hands, the creature squealing in surprise.

“Finally!” said Fern, hurrying forward. “Sorry, Ripley, I hope that didn’t scare you too much?”

Tom backed into the shadow of the bookshelf, his mind whirring. So, this was what Fern Tinsley snuck into the library to do every night. She came to practice jinxes and hexes in advance before Professor Merrythought could even mention them. This must be the explanation for her stellar performances every class. But why?

It didn’t seem to add up. Why would a happy-go-lucky girl as Fern want to learn defensive magic so badly? It didn’t seem that she was Muggleborn, so surely her grandmother had taught her all about magic since she was a child. She clearly knew far more than what she learned in secret at the library. She was not like Tom, who had been forced to live amongst pathetic muggle children in the orphanage for eleven years. So, why did her thirst for knowledge rival his?

Rather than lurk in the shadows all night, Tom decided he might as well try his luck at getting an answer out of her. She seemed a simple mind, and Tom was exceptionally good at convincing people to give him what he wanted.

“Need a dueling partner?” He asked quietly, stepping out of the shadows and into the pale moonlight streaming through the mullioned windows.

Fern spun around at once. Her wand was pointed straight at his chest and her eyes were quite round until she realized it was him.

“Oh, hi Tom,” she breathed, lowering her wand. “Sorry, I thought—I thought I was alone.”

“No, I’m sorry for disturbing you,” said Tom, putting down his Hogwarts record book onto a nearby table. “I just thought you might want someone to help.”

She sighed. “Seems I’ve been busted, haven’t I? Are you going to tell Slughorn?”

“Tell Slughorn?” Tom repeated. “Why would I do that? Especially after asking if you wanted company.”

“I thought you were joking,” She snorted. “Why would you want to give me company?”

“Is it that hard to believe?” said Tom, feeling himself growing impatient.

“It’s not exactly a secret that you find me annoying,” She said, stepping toward him with a mixed look on her face. “At least not to me.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Tom, staring passively back at her. “You were practicing disarming. I only thought you might like someone to practice with.”

She was quiet for a moment, watching him. Then, she laughed and shook her head.

“Blimey, you’re a good liar,” She grinned, stepping back and readying her wand again. “But if you’d really like to help, I wouldn’t mind.”

Tom nodded, though his insides were suddenly smoldering. She had known he was lying even though he gave no inclination. Saw right through the façade that hardly anyone else had been able to break. This only strengthened his desire to delve into her mind and find the real reason behind her affinity for powerful magic.

“Do you know how to Disarm?” she asked.

“I’m sure I’ll pick it up,” He replied, taking out his wand. “After you.”

Fern smiled, and for a split-second Tom saw that same icy mist in her eyes as when she had cast the Knockback Jinx.

“ _Expelliarmus!”_

Tom’s wand flew in a high arc and landed in her outstretched hand. Sourly impressed, though he did not show it, Tom took his wand when she offered it back to him.

“ _Expelliarmus.”_

Fern’s wand had no sooner landed in Tom’s hand than its owner stood looking quite startled.

“You weren’t kidding,” She said, taking it back. “You catch on quick.”

“I could say that about you, too,” said Tom, carefully. “You have no trouble casting spells in our Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons.”

“I thought you had noticed,” said Fern, with a knowing smile. “It just comes naturally to me.”

“Really?” said Tom. “Because it looks more like you’ve already cast most of those spells before.”

“And now you’ve found out where I practice everything before Merrythought teaches it,” She chirped back, still wearing that serene smile. “If anything, I should be asking you where _you_ do your secret practicing.”

“I don’t practice in secret.” He said coolly.

“But you _do_ practice a whole lot, don’t you?” She asked. “That’s why you’re as good as I am.”

“I suppose.”

“You never answered on the train when I asked if you were Muggleborn.” She said softly, in more of a statement.

“What of it?” He asked sharply.

“Nothing!” She said quickly. “Like I said before, it doesn’t really matter anyway. I only wondered if that was why you’re so bent on beating me in class.”

“Bent on beating—I’m not trying to beat you at anything,” He said impatiently. “And it does matter.”

“To you.” She said slowly. “Why?”

Tom considered her for a moment. She seemed like the sort of person that might reciprocate if he himself shared something about himself.

“I grew up in a muggle orphanage,” He said shortly. “It was miserable.”

“And that’s why you love magic so much,” She nodded. “Enough to want to be the best at it.”

“Is it the same for you?”

“Well, I didn’t grow up in an orphanage. My grandmother raised me,” She said lightly. “As you so cleverly realized.”

“What happened to your parents?”

Fern gave him a mischievous smile. “That’s not something I tell just anyone. Especially when I know they’re just trying to figure out how to beat me in school.”

“Didn’t I say that isn’t what I’m doing?” said Tom, folding his arms, actually a bit impressed at how she’d managed to out talk him, but equally annoyed.

“Then you’re doing it just to figure out why I’m so good at Defense Against the Dark Arts,” She shot back.

“So, you admit there’s another reason why you’re so good,” He said, unable to suppress the triumphant grin curving his lips.

“Well played, Riddle.” Fern laughed. “But that’s not enough to find out my deepest darkest secrets.”

“You said you don’t tell just anyone,” said Tom. “Who gets to know, then? Is it Ripley? Should I be asking him?”

“I don’t tell strangers or classmates,” She giggled. “But if you were to say…be my friend, then maybe one day I’d tell you.”

“Be your friend?” asked Tom, the smile vanishing from his face and his eyes dropping to the ground. When he looked up again, Fern was gathering her books and stowing them in her bag.

“Mull it over,” She said amicably, scooping Ripley onto her shoulder before pausing in front of him. “And just so you know, I don’t ask just anyone to be my friend either.”

With that, she breezed past him and out of the library, leaving Tom to ruminate in the shadows of the bookshelves.

***

For the remainder of his first year at Hogwarts, Tom was torn between considering Fern Tinsley a fool or a protégé. Only a fool would talk about being friends. As if that mattered to Tom. The only thing a friendship would mean to him is that there was now someone he had to depend on in order to get the information he needed. He would not stand for it. He would surpass her on his own. Just as he knew he could.

But Tom’s expectations were repeatedly shattered after every practical Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson he had. Fern continued to prove incredibly adept at the Jelly-Legs Jinx, and even more so the Leg-Locker Jinx. Tom’s legs had been snapped together more times than he could count when he inevitably partnered her during that lesson. It only infuriated him more.

He had not had a conversation alone with her since that night in the library, but her words continued to float around in his mind whenever he lay in bed. He wondered over and over again what her secret was. How had she become so powerful? And how could he obtain whatever it is she had?

The last month of his first year was spent craned over books. Both his schoolbooks, and more Hogwarts records book. Though he passed all his exams with flying colors, he had no luck finding his father. He had finished rifling through the school records of all the possible years his father might have gone to Hogwarts, and it only now occurred to him that perhaps his father was older or younger than he had imagined. However, that would have to wait until next year.

***

The Hogwarts Express arrived in Hogsmeade on the last day of school. Tom heaved his small trunk along the aisle with Abraxas, Nott, Avery, and Lestrange on his heels. Ahead of him, Mulciber waved from a compartment. When Tom passed he caught sight of a few older boys he did not know yet, but they all nodded at him.

“Tom, you’ve got to come visit my place over the summer!” said Abraxas eagerly, as they all sat down. “Bet it beats that orphanage you hate so much.”

Tom watched him. As much as he despised the orphanage, he wasn’t positive he would like it as much to spend a portion of the summer at Abraxas’ manor. If he had been allowed to remain at Hogwarts however…This past year had been the most wonderful of them all. He’d finally been able to embrace just how extraordinary he was. He’d been able to learn real magic and excel at it. For the first time in his life he’d felt at home, and now he was being forced to leave.

“Maybe,” said Tom, leaning back in his seat. “I wish the summer wasn’t so long.”

“And you’re about the only one who thinks that, mate,” said Avery, as the train began to move. “Though I can imagine why.”

Tom was barely listening though, for he had just seen Fern and Druella drag their trunks past their compartment and into the one ahead of them. Over the past few days he had been thinking of that same conversation from the library. He had come to a decision after realizing he’d have nothing to do at the orphanage all summer except study a limited selection of books. Wordlessly, he got up, slid the compartment door open, and vanished out into the aisle.

Fern and Druella were laughing about something when Tom opened the door. Druella immediately fell silent, her cheeks a bit red. The girl beside her had a similar reaction; but Fern met his gaze and smiled. With a nod to the other girls, she got up and followed him out into the aisle.

“Tell me what would happen if I took up your offer.”

Fern giggled. “You mean…you actually want to be my friend?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“You want to know my secret that bad, don’t you?” she said, an amused smile on her face. “I can’t promise you it’ll be all that great when you find out, but I won’t say no to a new friend.”

Tom sighed through his nose and then shrugged. “Well?”

“I’ll owl you this summer,” she said, now wearing a rather large grin. “And I’ll send some pasties too! Can’t imagine you get those at the orphanage?”

“No, I don’t,” He murmured.

There was a strange feeling rising in his chest. With a start he realized it was joy. A part of him had been dreading being disconnected from the magical world over the summer, and though he knew Abraxas and the rest of the boys in his dormitory would likely owl him, having another link to his true world pleased him.

“Great!” said Fern. “See you next term, Tom!”

“See you,” he nodded, turning on his heel and making his way back to his compartment.

Fern Tinsley was a strange girl, oddly trusting, but hiding something dark. However strange she was, Tom was willing to use it to his advantage. Especially if knowing her secret would make him a stronger wizard. And maybe once he was a stronger wizard…he would finally uncover wherever his father’s name was hidden at Hogwarts.

***


	3. The Elusive Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit longer than I intended it to be, but I decided on this instead of splitting it up! Hope you guys like it :)

Tom hated to admit ever finding joy at the orphanage, but this summer had been one of the better ones, and his new ‘friends’ at Hogwarts had much to do with it. Even if he wasn’t all that fond of one of them yet.

Abraxas had sent him a signature tin of fudge that had lasted him nearly until the end of July. Nott, Avery and Lestrange had sent large boxes of Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Botts Every Flavored Beans, and Cauldron Cakes. Even Fern had come through on her promise of an enormous stack of pumpkin pasties that had helped him through a grueling night when the orphanage had suffered a shortage of soup.

The best part, however, might have been the thing that confused the caretakers the most. Unlike all the other children at the orphanage, Tom had been looking forward to doing his homework. To his dismay though, he’d finished it all in just the first month of the summer, which left him with a vast shortage of things to do, especially since he’d promised Albus Dumbledore, the summer before, to refrain from some of his usual activities at the orphanage. Instead, he’d found owling Fern to be a passable hobby. Living under her grandmother’s roof, Fern had been practicing all sorts of spells from their new schoolbooks. She’d written all about them in her letters, promising to tell him all about it once school started.

And when he stepped onto platform 9 ¾ at King’s Cross Station, it was Fern that he saw first. A small group of people were gathered a few feet away from the barrier, and when he arrived all of them waved.

“Did you get the pasties, Tom?” Fern’s excited voice reached his ears, and he saw her standing just beside Lestrange, waving far more energetically than the rest. “You didn’t say anything about them in your letters…”

“You wouldn’t be the only one he’s done that to,” said Abraxas, shoving past Lestrange to stand next to her. “He hardly mentioned the tin of fudge I gave him in any of his letters to me.”

“They were nice, thank you.” said Tom, giving her a nod before turning to the rest of them. “All of you.”

Nott, Avery and Lestrange were standing a few paces away now, all three of them eyeing Fern with what looked to be surprise and mild interest. She didn’t seem to notice, for she was still grinning at him.

“Had a good summer, mate?” asked Avery, striding forward to clap him on the shoulder. “Got our packages too, then?”

“Of course,” Tom nodded. “They helped. Made the orphanage food a bit more bearable.”

“Excellent,” said Nott. “Shall we find a seat?”

The four boys moved toward the door of the nearest compartment on the train, filing inside with their trunks behind them. Tom heaved his own onto the steps before looking back.

“Are you not coming?” He asked, when he saw Fern pulling her trunk down the platform.

“Does Tom Riddle actually want me to join him?” She asked, with a mischievous smile.

“I thought you were going to tell me about those spells you’ve been practicing,” said Tom, eyes narrow as they searched her face, words slowing. “Unless you didn’t think I really read your letters.”

“How do I know you didn’t just read the one I sent you about practicing spells?” She asked, folding her arms with a look of feigned suspicion on her face.

Tom thought carefully. He had to admit she had a point. He hadn’t much cared about all the other stuff she’d put in her letters. He’d read it, of course, because anything that might tell him about her past could’ve been hidden in those words. Yet, so far, he hadn’t been able to discern anything other than useless facts about her home life.

“Because,” he began, working hard to keep the coolness out of his voice. “How else would I know that your grandmother gave you a new bow to put on Ripley for your birthday?”

“And what color was it?” Fern raised her eyebrows, but there was an unmistakable tug at the corners of her mouth.

“Blue.”

“And for good measure, when is my birthday, Riddle?”

“July 13th,” He said, with an amused smile.

“You’ve passed!” She exclaimed, and with the air of someone unveiling a prize, presented Ripley the puffskein from behind her back, a shiny, blue bow stuck to his fluffy head.

“Brilliant,” Tom muttered, with a reluctant glance at the puffskein. “Now are you coming?”

Fern laughed. “I’ve told Druella and the others I’ll sit with them, but I’ll find you in an hour or so.”

Tom nodded. “See you later, then.”

“See you!” She shot him a signature bright smile before setting off down the other end of the platform, her trunk rattling along behind her.

Tom wasn’t sure how to feel about their conversation, but one thing was for sure: Fern Tinsley had not changed much since last term. She was still that chipper girl with a dark secret that Tom so desperately wanted to unveil. And as he closed the compartment door behind him, he felt his ambitions hadn’t changed either. The only other thing he read as closely as Fern’s letters was his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook.

***

Tom spent his first month back at Hogwarts crammed in the library nearly every evening, sometimes poring over more record books, and other nights learning many of Fern’s new spells. Abraxas and Nott were raving about Quidditch tryouts, which were set to happen the second week of September, but Tom couldn’t care less about sports. While the two of them used their free time to practice on the Quidditch pitch, Tom was buried in his schoolbooks. Lestrange and Avery both needed substantial help in Potions, which Tom excelled at, and struggled with the new defensive spells the second-years were being taught. When Tom was busy, nose deep in a Hogwarts record book by the common room fire, he sometimes caught Fern helping them in his stead, something that both Lestrange and Avery didn’t seem to mind.

Slughorn constantly celebrated Tom’s success in daily classes, only pausing sometimes to laugh at one of Fern’s many jokes. Tom found this to be quite annoying because he very much liked talking to Slughorn when he wasn’t occupied. The professor was only too happy to discuss all of Tom’s many wonderments about various magical concepts. There were lots of times when Tom had finished brewing a potion early that Slughorn had let Tom wear him thin with questions.

“You’ve got a curious mind, Tom, haven’t you?” Slughorn chortled one day, after a particularly long barrage of questions about their most recent Forgetfulness Potion.

“Sorry if I’m bothering you professor,” said Tom, with a rather charming smile. “It’s only just because you’re so knowledgeable. I can’t help myself.”

Slughorn gave a booming laugh, his belly shaking. “You’ll do great things one day, m’boy, mark my words!”

“Please sir, you flatter me.” said Tom, his eyes glinting in the dim lighting of the dungeons.

“You know, now that I think about it, there’s quite a few talented young witches and wizards in your year, aren’t there?” Slughorn asked, thoughtfully.

Tom felt a flicker of unease, but refused to let it show. “You think so, sir?”

“There’s you, of course. I’ve heard good things about young Avery over there, not exactly gifted in this class but Dumbledore says he’s got a nice working for Transfiguration…” Slughorn went on, his eyes raking the dungeon around him, where a mix of Gryffindor and Slytherin second-years were bent over their cauldrons. “Oh, yes, Ignatius Prewett was excellent at Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts, must keep an eye on that one…oh, and Miss Tinsley, of course!”

Tom’s shoulders jumped at the mention of Fern’s name. He followed Slughorn’s eyes across the room, catching sight of her sitting in front of a steaming cauldron full of a ripe, green liquid. She was more interested in helping Druella though, who’s potion was gurgling horribly.

“I’ve heard from Professor Merrythought, oh yes, the two of you outshine the rest of your class, don’t you?” Slughorn said, now watching Tom again.

“You know me, professor, I don’t much like to brag.” Tom met his gaze with a polite smile. “But, Fern and I both work hard in all of our classes.”

“Indeed, indeed! Never seen two students as brilliant as you and Miss Tinsley! And both of you, such difficult lives you’ve had already…” Slughorn suddenly looked tearful as his gaze drifted from Tom to Fern. “You, m’boy, growing up in an orphanage…and just dreadful what happened to Miss Tinsley…”

“What happened to her?” Tom asked, sharply.

“Oh, I mustn’t say, Dumbledore’s said not to, but just dreadful it was—Merlin’s beard! Class is nearly over, I’ve got to inspect everyone’s potions!” Slughorn leapt to his feet. “Got me talking, didn’t you Tom? Ha!”

And he puttered off to examine everyone else’s Forgetfulness Potions, leaving Tom disgruntled. It hadn’t occurred to him that perhaps the professors knew a bit about their students. Maybe he ought to try Slughorn again once he learned what his favorite sweet was.

Yet, as he packed up his books and followed Abraxas out of the dungeon, he admitted he’d learned maybe a tad more about the mystery of Fern Tinsley. Whatever had happened to her, Dumbledore seemed to have found out somehow; and whatever it was, it had been dreadful. With that piece of information, though, came a sinking feeling in his chest. If he wasn’t able to get Slughorn to tell him, Dumbledore would be impossible. He resolved to stick to his original plan: get Fern herself to tell him. And unfortunately, that plan started with the two of them being “friends.”

***

Tom had just managed to shut the library door noiselessly behind him when a rather aggressive voice reached his ears. It was Fern. She’d gotten here before him and had already begun practicing, it seemed. Still, Tom was surprised to hear the vigor in her voice.

“ _Bombarda…Bombarda!_ There we go… _Reparo.”_

Tom stepped into the moonlight, watching carefully from beside a nearby shelf. Fern had her back to him, wand pointed at what looked to be a clipping from the _Daily Prophet_ that hung from the top of another bookshelf. Tom couldn’t quite read what it said, but he could see a photograph of someone at the top of the clipping that looked as if it had been put back together several times.

“ _Bombarda maxima!_ C’mon, _Bombarda maxima!”_

The clipping rifled as a light gust of wind shot from her wand but settled once more against the shelf. Fern readied her wand again.

“ _Bombarda max—_ ”

“I think you’ve got to jab more to maximize it.” Tom interrupted, leaning against a table.

“— _ima!”_ Fern leapt into the air in shock, just as a jet of purple light burst from the tip of her wand and the newspaper clipping exploded in a shower of charred paper.

“That’s it.” Tom said, with a small smirk.

“Oh, why would you sneak up on me like that?” Fern gasped, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

“Only because you went and started without me,” said Tom, slipping his bag off his shoulder and onto the table, then added carefully, “You seemed rather angry at that newspaper clipping.”

“Well, I was just—needed something to practice with,” She huffed, still giving him a wary look.

“What, Ripley wasn’t up for it?” asked Tom.

“That’s awful, Tom!” Fern cried, furrowing her brows. “Ripley’s not a practice dummy! He could get seriously hurt! Hope you were joking…”

“Use me, then,” He said, ignoring her latter statement, his wand clenched tightly in his hand. “Ready?”

“Right to business, with you, isn’t it?” She said, with a short laugh.

“I’d rather get in some practice before we get caught,” said Tom. “Unless you fancy being stuck in detention together for a week?”

“No,” She giggled, taking her spot cross from him. “That would break your perfect student reputation, wouldn’t it?”

“And yours.”

“ _Bombarda!_ ” She said firmly, in the same charged voice he’d heard before, and a jet of violet light came hurtling toward him.

It was a testament to the number of times they’d practiced together that Tom did not jump out of the way. The spell erupted against his chest and pushed him off his feet, his wand clattering to the floor as he fell.

“Oh, Tom, I’m so sorry!” Fern was rushing toward him. “We should have gotten cushions or something, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” He said, rubbing the spot on his chest where the spell had hit him. Once again, he found himself marveling at the strength of her spells. It only made him want to try it out himself.

“Are you sure?” She asked, concern dancing in her vivid green eyes. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“What does it matter?” He muttered in annoyance, standing again. “Isn’t that the point of practicing these spells?”

“To get hurt? I’d hope not,” she replied. “We’re practicing to get better at defensive magic, but that doesn’t mean I want you to get hurt on purpose. Do you want _me_ to get h—”

“Of course, not.” He said sharply. “But you can’t avoid it.”

Tom had expected her to reply right away, but her silence was abrupt. He searched her eyes, but they were strangely shrouded. Unreadable. Their usual playfulness was nowhere to be seen. Then she blinked, and light shone in them once more.

“Well, you’re right, I suppose.” She said. “But I would still rather you not get hurt every time we practice. What sort of friend would I be if I let that happen?”

Tom narrowed his eyes. There it was again. That word. _Friend._ How limiting. She didn’t want to see him in pain. She didn’t want to see a _friend_ in pain and that was another reason why he would surpass her. But what had just happened in that moment? She had looked haunted at his words. Where had she gone? What had she remembered? 

“Not a very good one, I suspect.” He said finally. 

“Oh, does that mean you finally admit to being my friend?” She raised an eyebrow, the mischievous smile returning to her face. 

“Of course.” He said quietly, raising his wand to indicate he was ready to get back to practicing.

Fern shook her head gently, but she was smiling. “I thought you knew I can tell when you’re lying.”

Tom simply gave her a bland smile, refusing to let the ripples of anger in his stomach surface. She raised her wand and motioned for him to have a go. He did so, without a drop of remorse. But instead of toppling to the ground, she slid backward and into the bookshelf behind her, an icy look in her eyes. Something blue hovered in the air in front of her like a shield.

“What is that?” He demanded, suddenly incensed. “What spell did you—”

“Calm down, Riddle,” She grinned. “That was just to get you back for lying.”

“I don’t care, I want to know how you did it.”

“It was just a Shield Charm,” She chirped. “You were so busy trying to knock me off my feet you didn’t hear me whisper it. But honestly, the look on your face was worth it!”

“Teach it to me now,” He said coolly, before adding a stiff, “Please.”

“If you can knock me off my feet,” She said, smirking.

“You’ll regret saying that.”

“Will I?”

“You will.”

She smiled, and after a moment so did Tom, a little less reluctantly than usual.

***

It was February and the grounds were covered in a thick foot of snow. The corridors were cold and drafty, but the library, where Tom sat, was warm and welcoming. Listening to the crackling of the fire, Tom found himself moments from finishing the last Hogwarts record book that could possibly contain a trace of his family.

He was only half listening as the sound of footsteps reached his ears. He already knew who it was. The skip in her step was unmistakable.

“There you are,” said Fern, plopping down into the armchair beside his. “I’ve been trying to find you for ages!”

“Mm?” He hummed vaguely, eyes still planted firmly on the list of names in front of him.

“Have you decided what new classes you’ll take next year?” she asked, pulling out a thin leaflet and laying it out on the table in front of them. “I decided on Ancient Runes, but I’ve got room for two more classes. I’ve been asking everyone, I just can’t decide!”

“What’s the use of asking me?” Tom asked, now absently pulling at his lip as he flipped a page.

“Well, I like getting all of my friend’s ideas,” she said, and Tom didn’t have to look to know that she was beaming at him. “So? What’ve you decided to take?”

Tom let out a sigh, but marked his page and closed the book. “Ancient Runes and Divination.”

“Divination?” She said, her brows rising in surprise. “Tom Riddle wants to take Divination…I wouldn’t have thought it.”

“And why not?” He asked.

“Divination’s a very imprecise branch of magic, you know. Real Seers…they’re rare.” said Fern, casting him a peculiar look. “And even then, there’s no promise anything they say will really happen.”

Tom stared back. “There’s power in knowing what’s coming. Even if it’s not definite.”

“I suppose,” she said vaguely. “Hey! Here’s an idea. I’ll take Divination with you if you take Care of Magical Creatures with me.”

Tom had to admit he was taken aback by this proposition. It was true, Tom did have room for another class, but he had been hoping to fill it with something more worthwhile, like Arithmancy. Care of Magical Creatures would not be completely useless though, better than Muggle Studies at the very least.

“Why would I want to do that?” He asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

“It’ll be fun, come on!” Fern bounced in her seat.

“What use is there to learning about creatures?”

“Actual magical creatures have far more interesting properties than the bits of them we use in potions,” she said smartly. “C’mon, Tom, I know you can’t resist learning as much as you can.”

Tom studied her for a moment. She was right, the creatures of the magical world were certainly miraculous, and perhaps having Fern’s company during both Divination and Care of Magical Creatures would give him a chance to learn more; and not just about the subjects.

“You’re just the same as me,” said Tom. “But why didn’t _you_ want to take Divination?”

“The future’s unpredictable,” Fern shrugged, leaning back in her armchair with a serene smile. “I like it that way, don’t you?”

“No,” he said uneasily. “But alright, I’ll take Care of Magical Creatures with you.”

“Brilliant!” Fern grinned, clapping her hands together. “None of my other friends were interested in it, maybe you can convince some more of your friends to take it too!”

“Maybe,” he murmured, his attention now drifting back to the record book. He flipped it back open to the page he was on and sank back into the list.

“Another record book,” said Fern suddenly, and her voice jolted him out of his thoughts. “You’re always reading student record books in the common room. I can’t imagine they’re that interesting?”

“I don’t think our reading interests have ever been the same,” he replied, thinking of their first encounter on the Hogwarts Express last year and how she’d commented on him reading the _Prophet_.

“You’ve got a new record book every day, Riddle. What’s the deal?” She asked, craning curiously over his shoulder to read the page he was on. “Are you looking for someone?”

He paused in his reading. Should he tell her? What would she say if she knew he was looking for his father in the pages at Hogwarts? Could it be that she might tell him something about her own father if he revealed his intentions? Though his desire to uncover her past burned in his chest, he felt he should stay closed off. This was his family, after all. Even he did not know who they were yet. Fern seemed to think so too, after he remained silent.

“There are other places to find people that went to Hogwarts, you know.” She said, leaning on his armrest.

All thought of concealment vanished from Tom’s mind. “Where else? Tell me.”

“Why don’t I show you?” She smiled, getting to her feet.

For a brief moment, Tom saw her differently. He had always wanted to learn the secret of her power, but never had he thought she could help him in his quest to find his family. Without wasting another second, Tom dropped the useless record book onto the table and followed her out of the library.

She led him to a large, double doored room, jam packed with shining silver and gold cups, banners, ribbons, and shields. Pale light from the snow-covered grounds fell through the windows in long rays across the carpeted floor, making the many shelves of awards twinkle wondrously as Tom stepped inside.

“This is the Trophy Room,” said Fern, shutting the door behind her, a silence settling throughout the room. “If you’re looking for someone who went to Hogwarts, there’s a chance they’re in here.”

Tom was already inspecting the table nearest to him. There were different names embossed on tiny plaques, each attached to a beautiful cup, ribbon, or shield. Was it possible his father was here? Could he have done something so great the school record books simply couldn’t contain it? Or maybe he had just missed him, but regardless, it would make sense if his father were somewhere in here. Perhaps his extraordinary abilities ran in the family.

Fern dawdled in the center of the room while Tom made his way around. He stooped low in front of every shelf, pressed his nose to every shield, and counted forty different ribbons before she finally spoke again.

“I, erm, can help you look, if you’d like,” she offered. “There’s a lot of trophies in here…”

“It’s alright,” said Tom impatiently, eyes now trained on a shield hanging on the wall, squinting to read it. “You can leave me here. I’ll look on my own.”

“You’ll be here all night,” Fern frowned.

“How do you know that?” He straightened up, his voice cold. “You haven’t any idea who I’m looking for.”

“Just a hunch,” she shrugged, moving toward the shelf he was in front of. “Who _are_ you looking for, Tom?”

Tom turned his gaze back to the trophies, once more wondering if it was worth it to tell her. He could feel her gaze on him, soft and patient. Of all his friends, none of them knew who he had been really looking for all this time. Then again, none of his other companions were on par with the girl in front of him, meeting with him nearly every night to practice defensive magic.

“Just tell me if you see Riddle anywhere,” was all he said, before sinking back to his knees and delving through the trophies on the bottom shelf.

If Fern was surprised by that statement, she did not show it. She gave a satisfied nod and set off to the other end of the room. The two of them looked high and low, until the sun had nearly vanished from the room. They only stopped when the torches in the corridor outside burst to life, signaling the start of the evening.

Tom let his fingers slip away from the last trophy, a corrosive feeling in his stomach. He’d never been so displeased in his life. This was where Hogwarts celebrated students who had accomplished something, and his father wasn’t even here. Had his father been just as pathetic as his mother?

Rage licked at the walls of his chest. He slowly rose to his feet and his hands curled into fists. Spinning on his heel, he was seconds from storming from the room; but Fern stood just behind him, a gentle look in her eyes.

“You’ve been looking for your parents, haven’t you?”

“My father.” He said stiffly, seeing no use in holding it in anymore. “I was named after him.”

“And you’ve had no luck with the record books?” She asked, then faltered at the look on his face. “Sorry, stupid question.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Tom let out a noise of disdain, shaking his head and turning away from her. “It’s clear he was nothing special.”

“Don’t give up just yet!” said Fern. “Have you checked the old prefect lists? He could be there!”

“I’ve checked almost every list in the library!” Tom hissed, feeling his anger exploding like sparks from his lips. “There’s nowhere else…where else can I look?”

“Well, what about…have you thought about your mother?”

“No.” He said icily. “My mother wasn’t a witch.”

“Are you sure—”

“My mother was _not_ a witch.”

Only when Hogwarts was about to collapse would he ever believe his mother was the magical one of his parents. She had died. _Died._ She could have saved herself if she was a witch. If she had been a witch, she would not have died while giving birth to Tom, and she certainly would not have left him to rot in that horrible orphanage. 

From that evening until his last day at Hogwarts, Tom found himself locked in a fierce debate with himself. How much more could he possibly look for a man that refused to exist? At least, refused to exist in the world Tom had so hoped he would exist in. There were only so many places at Hogwarts that his father could be hiding. Tom would not accept that he was a muggle. _His_ father? Tom Riddle Sr, a muggle? The fury he felt every time he thought about it left him with shaking hands.

When he mounted the Hogwarts Express on the last day of term, he had convinced himself that he simply hadn’t looked hard enough. He would start his next term by going straight to a part of the library he’d never been in: the restricted section. With a summer full of letters from Fern to look forward to, sweets from his Abraxas, Nott, Avery, and Lestrange, and books chock filled with new potions, spells, and charms to study, Tom left Hogwarts after another year.


	4. An Uncertain Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next one! Sorry for the wait.Thank you so much to everyone who's left kudos and comments. If you like the story please do comment and tell me your thoughts, I love hearing what you guys think of the story! :)

“I’m so excited!” Fern cheered, a bounce in her step as she walked alongside Tom, the two of them making their way out the oak front doors of the castle. “What do you think we’ll learn about first? Salamanders? I’ve always thought they were fascinating…”

The grounds were brisk, a breeze warning of the coming autumn disheveling their hair as they walked. Tom inhaled the fresh scent of pine and the lingering aroma of breakfast from the Great Hall, his chest swelling with satisfaction at being back in his true home. He and Fern were off to their first Care of Magical Creatures lesson that morning. Tom had been visibly reluctant when their schedules were handed out that morning, but hadn’t been able to get in a word before Fern dragged him off to the grounds.

“Tom! Hey, Fern—wait!” Came Abraxas’ voice, followed by a glimpse of the pale haired boy scrambling down the front steps, Avery at his heels. “We’ve got class too!”

“Tom, you didn’t tell me your other friends were taking Care of Magical Creatures!” said Fern in delight, waving to Abraxas and Avery until they drew close enough. “Hi Abraxas!”

“Hi, Fern,” Abraxas said breathlessly, hastily flattening his hair. There was a light pink dusting on his cheeks.   
  
“Still can’t believe you’ve taken this class, mate,” said Avery in Tom’s ear. “Didn’t think you fancied unicorns and dragons much.”

Tom’s mouth thinned. “I don’t.”

“Why’ve you taken it, then?” Avery asked, his voice low as Abraxas and Fern walked along ahead of them, chattering on. “Because of her?”

A twang of annoyance pulsed in his neck when Avery jerked his head in Fern’s direction, a quizzical look on his face. Tom’s dark eyes moved to the girl in front of him. She was laughing at something Abraxas had said, the latter looking quite pleased at whatever joke he’d made.

“Better not let Malfoy know,” Avery smirked, elbowing Tom in the side. “He’s already planning Hogsmeade visits.”

“That’s not why I’ve taken it,” said Tom, fixing Avery with a look of disdain. “You know why I have.”

“Oh, you’re not still on about her having some secret, are you?” Avery groaned. “Come off it. Look at her.”

Fern had just screwed up her face in an impression of their headmaster, Professor Dippet, speaking in an abnormally scraggly voice while Abraxas roared with laughter. Tom watched her for a moment longer before turning back to Avery.

“What do you care?” said Tom. “I could ask you why you’ve taken this class as well.”

“Abraxas begged me to,” Avery rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t have done it if I’d known you’d be here.”

“All in good use,” said Tom, with a shrug. “You can keep Malfoy occupied.”

“What, while you smarm up Tinsley?”

Tom deliberated between saying ‘yes’ or not. He wouldn’t have quite put it the way Avery had, but in essence, that _was_ what Tom was setting out to do. If he had to hold salamanders and train nifflers to succeed, so be it. The only problem was, Fern was much too aware of his intentions.

“Gather round, gather round!” Interrupted a hearty voice, belonging to a heavily bandaged man with tufts of blond hair peeking out from beneath a thick head cast. One of his calves was made entirely of wood, ending in a stump for a foot. “I am Professor Kettleburn! Welcome to Care of Magical Creatures!”

Tom moved deftly to Fern’s side, ignoring the look on Avery’s face as he did. They were standing at the edge of the forest in front of a small, fenced circle. Kettleburn stood in front of the little paddock, a wide grin on his face. Tom found himself staring with a mixed expression on his face at the creatures bumbling around inside the paddock.

“Now, can anyone tell me what these creatures are?” Kettleburn asked, gazing around at the throng of third-years.

Fern’s hand shot into the air, her face entirely laced with wonder. “They’re mooncalfs!”

“Splendid! Ten points to Slytherin!” Kettleburn said with an enthusiastic nod. “Indeed, these are mooncalfs. Strange little beasts, but their dung’s dead useful!”

Calling the mooncalfs strange was to put it simply. They had large, protuberant blue eyes, and long, furry necks. Their bodies were the size of a small dog, with stubby legs that ended in webbed feet. It was the oddest creature Tom had ever seen.

However, beside him, Fern was clutching the edge of the paddock already, cooing at them over the fence. Abraxas was watching her with a dazed look on his face, Avery regarding the mooncalfs with blatant repugnance. Tom found them a bit repulsive as well, but thought he could see the visual appeal they might bring some people. Though, he was not part of that minimal group.

“Alright, pair up and go find a mooncalf! I’d like you to try feeding them and study their behavior!” Kettleburn opened up the paddock. “Then we shall discuss!”

“Come on!” Fern seized Tom around the wrist and yanked him into the paddock after her. Glancing behind him, Tom couldn’t help but revel in the crestfallen look on Abraxas’ face.

In seconds, Fern and Tom were standing in front of a single mooncalf. The creature’s enormous eyes were fixed on the mound of food in Fern’s palm. She stretched out her hand toward it and the mooncalf bounded forward, slurping the kernels of feed out of it

“Is this all we have to do, then?” Tom asked, arms folded firmly against his chest. “Feed them?”

“Yes, want to try?” She asked, grinning up at him from where she was now crouched, stroking the mooncalf’s furry, grey neck. “They’re such beautiful creatures, don’t you think?”

Tom thought a _lot_ of things about them, but none of which he ought to say in front of Fern. He took a grudging step toward the mooncalf, but did not move his arms from where they were crossed.

“Not particularly,” he said, staring at the mooncalf, which was now lowering its long neck to sniff at Tom’s shoes. “What’s the point in feeding it?”

“To care for it,” she chirped back, pulling the bag of feed toward her. “Here, hold out your hand.”

Tom only did it because Professor Kettleburn was dawdling just behind him, observing their mooncalf. While he walked, Fern poured a handful of the feed into Tom’s palm. As soon as the mooncalf saw the kernels in Tom’s hand it began leaping excitedly, its blue eyes shimmering in the morning sun.

“And why would I care for it? What does it do, exactly?” Tom asked, half disgusted at the feeling of the mooncalf licking the food from his palm. “Kettleburn’s said its dung is useful. Why?”

“If you harvest it before sunrise I think it makes crops grow really fast!” said Fern, watching contently as the mooncalf ate out of Tom’s hand.

“There are spells that do that,” said Tom, unimpressed. “What you’re telling me is that this thing is useless.”

“Useless?” said Fern, getting to her feet. “You’ve just learnt that their dung makes plants grow incredibly fast.”

“And I said there are spells that can do that far more efficiently,” Tom repeated. “If a spell can do it better, what’s the point of having one of these milling around your garden?”

“If not for their properties, why not as a pet?” Fern offered, a glimmer of childlike glee dancing in her green eyes. “Look at it, it’s adorable!”

“As a pet?” Tom made a derisive noise in his throat. “As if I would want a pet that has no use.”

“Not everything has a use, Tom,” said Fern, and her voice was somehow different, softer. “Not everything exists to have a purpose.”

She reached out and stroked the mooncalf behind its ear. The creature crooned happily, its eyes closing serenely while a small smile curved Fern’s lip. She looked back up at Tom.

“Somethings just _are_.”

Tom watched her carefully, the words halting his thoughts. Somethings just _are_? Could she honestly be talking about this futile, little creature before them? How was Tom supposed to accept that it simply existed in this world without a purpose? Everything had a purpose. Everything had meaning. Somethings simply outgrew their purpose, just as this creature had.

But even as class drew to a close, Tom found himself turning over her words in his mind, wondering how they could connect to her past. To her power. It infuriated him to think that perhaps her words were just that. Words. Just as she had said, perhaps they served no meaning. Perhaps they just _were_. Tom’s annoyance only grew at the thought that she had been trying to teach him something more than just hexes and jinxes. It was _he_ that was supposed to be learning more about her. Learning her secrets.

“You know, I’m really glad we’re taking this class together,” said Fern, as they began the walk back to the castle. Abraxas and Avery traipsed along behind them, both nursing small bite wounds from their particularly snippy mooncalf.

“Why’s that?” asked Tom, thoroughly wondering if he had just wasted an entire hour of his life he would not get back. “Fancy seeing me feed a mooncalf?”

“No,” she said. “I like seeing you care for one.”

“You can’t possibly still think I actually cared about that thing?”

“No, but you cared _for_ it. You fed it, and made sure it was alright. Even if you didn’t care about the creature itself.”

“I only did it because this is a class and I’ve got a certain reputation to uphold.”

“Maybe this time.”

Tom marveled at the way she smiled, as if she knew something he didn’t. As they all filed through the oak front doors, Tom couldn’t help but feel impressed against his will. He had never pondered anyone more than Fern Tinsley, and that was a feat of hers in itself.

***

Tom didn’t very much like butterbeer. It was sweet, syrupy, and clung to the inside of his throat. It made speaking difficult, spilled and rendered his eagle feather quill useless, and stuck the pages of a very old book Tom was trying to read together. He spent the rest of his first afternoon in Hogsmeade siphoning butterbeer off the pages of it, crammed at a table in the corner of the Hogsmeade archive library.

“What’ve you done?” Came a croaking voice from behind him. “This is why I tell you kids not to bring your ruddy drinks in here!”

Tom hastened to look around, sweeping his dark curls out of his eyes as an ill-tempered, old woman came hobbling around the corner of a bookshelf.

“I’m terribly sorry,” said Tom, straightening up and casting her a polite, practiced smile. “I was just doing some schoolwork and thought I’d have a drink. You know how it can be as a student, don’t you?”

“Of course, I do,” said the woman, with a reproachful look. “That’s why I tell you bloody kids not to bring your butterbeer in here! Now I’ve got to clean it up on my own!”

Tom looked at her for a moment longer, taking in her appearance. Her hands were callused, as if she spent much of her time doing just that, cleaning. By hand. There was not a single trace of magic in this room. Tom had thought it the moment he saw her, she was a Squib.

“Please, let me,” said Tom, pulling out his wand and pointing it at the book like he had been doing before. “ _Tergeo.”_

The honey colored liquid peeled itself off of the pages of the book and vanished, leaving the pages wrinkled, but clean.

The woman stared hesitantly at him, and Tom had to suppress the look of disgust pulling at the corners of his mouth. How pathetic the life of a Squib must be, surrounded by magic yet unable to harness even a drop of it.

“Well, thanks anyway,” she finally grumbled. “Now, are you done spilling butterbeer all over my archives?”

“Yes, I apologize again,” said Tom, leaning into a slight bow. “I appreciate you letting me study here.”

The woman nodded, now regarding Tom with a peculiar look on her face. She waved her hand, motioning toward the door. Tom handed the clean book back to her, scooped the half empty butterbeer bottle into his hand, and pushed open the door, entering the busy Hogsmeade street outside. Hogwarts students were visible in every direction, laughing loudly while coming out of Zonko’s Joke Shop, or sloshing butterbeer down their fronts after bounding out of The Three Broomsticks. Tom’s eyes raked the crowds until they finally stopped on the window of Honeydukes.

“Riddle,” said Lestrange, when Tom pushed open the door of the sweet shop with the tinkle of the bell. “Find what you were looking for?”

Tom shook his head, eyes moving to Nott and Avery, who were both sucking on massive sherbet balls that were making them hover a foot above the floor. They waved in his direction.

“Want to try one, Tom?” Nott asked, offering him a sherbet.

“No, thank you,” Tom said, still irritated from his failure at the archive library.

This was the last and final place Tom had thought to look for his father and his search had yielded no results. Still, none of his friends knew who he was looking for. He’d learned quickly that the knowledge that his father was a muggle would not sit well with them. Mainly because it did not sit well with Tom.

The bell tinkled behind them and the four of them turned to see Fern, Abraxas, and Druella enter the sweet shop, pink faced from the cold. Abraxas looked to be having the time of his life, brushing shoulders with Fern, who was chatting animatedly with him. Tom was thankful when Druella nudged her and nodded toward Tom and the rest of his friends.

“Hi guys! Oooh, I’ll have one!” Fern said, eyes lighting up as Avery offered her a sherbet ball. “Wow—dis is gweat!”

Tom rolled his eyes and stalked forward, grabbing her arm. “Come here for a second.”

“Hm—? Oh, hi Tom!”

He pulled her out the door and out onto the side of the road, ducking into the mouth of a nearby alley.

“What’s up?” She asked, finally having swallowed the sherbet. “Where’ve you been this entire time?”

“In the archives.”

Fern’s face quickly grew serious. “Did you find him?”

“No, that’s why I need to know,” he sighed. “if there’s anywhere else in this village that might have any other records.”

“No, Hogsmeade only has one archive library,” Fern frowned. “I’m really sorry, Tom. I thought for sure he would be there.”

“He wasn’t.” Tom spat. “He was just as useless as I thought he was.”

Fern was quiet, still gazing at him with sympathy in her eyes. Then, she cleared her throat and folded her arms.

“Well, you know what’s left now, don’t you?”

Tom’s dark eyes met the vivid green. There was no trace of sympathy in them now. Only that hard, chilling look lay in its place. It sent an odd surge of exhilaration through Tom’s veins.

“My mother.” He finally said.

“Maybe she’s not as pathetic as you kept saying.”

“If anything, she’s more pathetic than I thought.” Tom nearly snarled. “She was a witch and she still died giving birth to me. After marrying a _muggle._ There’s no excuse for that.”

Fern pressed her eyelids shut and let out a breath, before saying softly, “You don’t know the whole story.”

“And _you_ do?”

“No, that’s my point,” she said. “No one knows anything about your mother. Or anything about her family. I don’t think it’s fair to judge her before you know her.”

Tom glared at her, hatred boiling in his stomach. Not at Fern, but at his own mother. What did it matter if it was fair or not? Everything his mother had ever accomplished in her life had led to Tom growing up in that desolate orphanage. She had been weak and worthless, yet here he was now, relying on her for any information of his true origins.

“You would suggest trying to find her.”

“Yes,” said Fern, her face lightening at his words. “And let me help you this time. I promise we’ll find her faster if we work together.”

Tom’s jaw tightened. “Where would you say we start, then?”

“Don’t humor me,” she said, with a small smile. “You know where.”

He was indeed humoring her. Tom knew exactly where to begin; with the only puzzle piece his mother had left him. The minuscule sliver of identity he had that tied him to his mother’s family. His middle name, and the name of his grandfather. Marvolo.

***

“Riddle, Tom?”

“Present, sir.”

His voice was laced with disgust as he said it, but no one seemed to notice. Everyone was too busy staring at Professor Oakley at the front of the classroom. In fact, the classroom itself was rather odd. Tom felt like he was sitting in some sort of attic. There were small, circular tables set up all around them, each with a set of low, wooden stools around them.

“Tinsley, Fern?”

“Here, sir!”

Fern was seated just beside him. Their table was beside the window at the back of the class, and Lestrange, Nott, and Abraxas were seated around the table beside them, all looking beyond bored.

“Welcome back everyone! Today I shall be giving you all a taste of Palmistry,” said Oakley, sweeping out from behind his desk, his robes trailing across the dusty floor behind him. “This is a matter we do not study until the end of this term, but I find that previews kindle more interest in the subject.”

Tom silently agreed, his eyes glinting in the dim lighting of the Divination classroom. There was an unbridled hunger bubbling in his stomach as Oakley spoke. Divination. Predicting the future. What was more powerful than knowing exactly how everything would turn out? There would be no need for anything else if one could predict how each day would play out.

His eyes drifted to Fern, who was leaning back in her seat, and his eyes narrowed. Drastically different from her usual smile, was the frown twitching at her lips. Her vivid green eyes were dull and there was a vague look on her face. It was a peculiar expression on her. Decidedly _wrong_ , thought Tom.

“Now, who would like to be my first subject?” Oakley asked, rubbing his palms together with a beady look toward the rest of the class.

Behind Tom, Lestrange and Nott were snickering about something. Nott nudged Lestrange, looking as if he were stifling a chuckle. Lestrange put his hand up, gazing lazily at Oakley.

“Here, sir. I’ll be your first victim.” He said, smirking. A ripple of laughter went through the class.

“Come now, come now,” said Oakley, wagging his index finger as he glided across the room. “Being the subject of a palm reading can be quite insightful! Good on you for volunteering, Lestrange!”

“Right, sir,” said Lestrange, now looking regretful that he’d volunteered.

Regardless, Oakley seized the boy’s hand and flattened his palm across the table, peering through thick bifocals at the lines on Lestrange’s hand. He hummed under his breath as he did, tracing a wrinkled finger across a particularly long, thin line.

“Fascinating, fascinating,” He murmured. “You will live a long life, boy. A fruitful one as well. I predict two children, approximately.”

“Two children?” Lestrange repeated, raising his brows. “Sir, if you wouldn’t mind telling me more about my future wife—”

Another ripple of laughter echoed around the room and Tom rolled his eyes. Lestrange was quite the cruel jokester but Tom wished he’d shut up for just one moment. He was listening intently to Oakley’s predictions. Though there was no way of knowing their true value now, Tom had made several notes to glean their accuracy in the future.

“Now, now, Lestrange,” Oakley chortled. “Let’s see here…I’m afraid your heart line is not as extravagant as the others. Dear, dear…it seems she may perish early in life.”

Lestrange’s smirk faded from his face as he gaped at Professor Oakley, but the man had moved on. He was now peering intently at Fern and Tom’s table.

“And do we have a volunteer from here?” He asked, watching them with protuberant eyes. “Mr. Riddle? Miss Tinsley?”

“Go on, Fern,” Tom leaned back in his chair with a suave smile curving his lips.

“What?” She blinked several times, staring at him. “No—no thank you.”

“Don’t be shy!” said Oakley.

“Please, Fern,” said Tom, giving her a curt nod. “I think you’ll make a much more interesting—ah— _victim_ , than I.”

A few girls at a nearby table giggled loudly at his comment, casting him hopeful glances; but Tom’s eyes were planted firmly on Fern. She was half-glaring at him, the familiar icy look in her eyes as she shook her head incredulously. Tom did not care what she thought of him in this moment, for all his focus was on what Oakley would predict from her palm.

“Sure, Professor,” she finally said, straightening up in her chair and giving Oakley her usual bright smile. “Can’t say it’ll be all that interesting though.”

“Nonsense,” Oakley murmured, gently taking her outstretched hand and examining her palm. The old man’s eyes moved curiously over her hand and quiet mumblings fell from his lips. “Dear, dear, my child, you will live a long life…but a happy one—I cannot be certain.”

Tom was at the edge of his seat, his eyes dark and ravenous as he listened. He glanced at Fern. Her face was impassive. She was not frowning, but her smile had vanished. It only made Tom want to hear more. He couldn’t help but wonder if he was about to hear the secret of her power. The source of all her strength. Her oh, so dreadful past.

“My dear, there is…I sense much anger within you,” said Oakley, his eyes wide behind his lenses. “A bottled rage that emerges from the very depths of your bones—”

The entire class had fallen silent. Beside them, Nott, Lestrange, and Abraxas were all hanging onto Oakley’s every word. Tom’s eyes were lit with fascination. _Tell me more_ , his mind whispered as he leaned ever closer to Fern and Professor Oakley. The hunger written all over his face was almost bestial.

“Your heart line is short, stunted almost—perhaps a side effect of this anger? Your fate line…prone to shifting. Uncertainty,” Oakley went on. “My dear, it seems you—”

“Thank you, Professor,” said Fern, pulling her hand away from him. “I appreciate the insight, really, but I’ve never been one for Divination in all honesty.”

She was wearing a more reserved smile now. Tom fought hard to suppress the scowl tugging at his lips. Professor Oakley watched her for a moment longer before nodding.

“Well, yes, not everyone believes in the mystical art of Divination,” he said, straightening up. “But that is what I hope to change in your young minds! Everyone take out your books!”

He swept off to the front of the room again, now preaching about the subtle science of Palmistry, leaving Fern and Tom alone.

“What was that for?” She asked him immediately, fixing him with a piercing look. “ _You’re_ the one that’s so excited about this class, what did you volunteer me for?”

Tom chuckled. “Like I said, you made a far more interesting subject than me.”

“Please,” said Fern, tilting her head to the side, the mischievous smile returning to her face. “If you’re hoping Divination of all things will tell you all about my past, you’re sorely mistaken, Riddle.”

“Am I?” Tom raised an eyebrow. “How do you plan to hide your past with Oakley reading your palms and staring into crystal balls?”

“Disappointing, Tom,” Fern said, dotingly. “You’ve fundamentally misunderstood the class! Divination is about predicting the future. Not seeing the past.”

“Where would our futures be without our past?” He asked calmly.

“I think our future is most dependent on the present,” said Fern, the daylight from the window igniting the vibrant green hues of her eyes. “No matter what happens in your past, the future only depends on what you do now.”

“The present is constantly becoming the past, though,” said Tom, furrowing his brow. “Every second that passes becomes the past.”

“We could go on for days arguing about this, you know,” she giggled. “It’s just a matter of perspective. The present changes the past _and_ the future. They’re all dependent on one another.”

“Perhaps,” said Tom, thoughtfully. “Either way, you must admit that this class _will_ be insightful.”

“Sure, it’ll be insightful,” she shrugged, before smirking at him. “I just don’t know if it’s entirely in the way you want it to be.”

“I’ll shape it to my needs,” said Tom, turning over the pages of his book as Oakley began to discuss the different mounts of the palm.

“Just remember, Riddle,” she said. “A class won’t tell you everything you want to know about me. Especially not this one.”

“How conceited of you,” said Tom, with a smile. “I didn’t take Divination just to learn about you.”

“Shocking, I don’t even think you’re lying about that,” Fern laughed. “Fine, Tom. I believe you.”

It was true to some extent. Tom hadn’t taken Divination just to learn about Fern. It had been a part of their deal; he would take Care of Magical Creatures if she took Divination with him, but Tom had chosen Divination far earlier than that conversation. The prospect of being able to predict the future was tantalizing. If Fern’s secret came with it…then it would serve him just as well.


End file.
